


So, Search Me

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm Detective Malfoy. I have a warrant to search your dwellings." "So search me." He murmured, the challenge so blatant it felt like a slap in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> As this story is now complete, and I'm only posting finished works on this site, I've decided to post it here. Expect a chapter each day. Reviews are very welcome.
> 
> I'm also searching for a DM/HP artist who can do some cover art for me and not only for this story, if you're interested please please please get in touch.

**So, Search Me**

**Part 1**

God, he hated Mondays. The traffic was always bad in the mornings, everyone was too tired to listen and by the time you got to the front of the canteen line at lunch all the Blueberry Muffins were either gone or stale. Additionally, is was sod's law that would be the day your car broke down and your boss decided to perform a 'mandatory' spot check on your department and, of course, you are found missing and thus you get saddled with the most boring jobs, such as searching some drugged up teenagers flat for absolutely no reason with a warrant that was barely legal on the twenty-sixth floor of an apartment block in the dodgiest end of London where the lifts don't work and you're more likely to catch a disease than trip over a tramp, which altogether wasn't really uncommon at all. If this should happen to you, as it did this young detective, you would not only be unlucky and – by the time you'd climbed all those Godforsaken stairs – tired, you would also be known as Draco Malfoy. God, how he hated Mondays.

He was about halfway there, or so the gum-diseased, piss coloured number signs exclaimed at each floor, and already his blond hair was starting to stick to his forehead. The white shirt plastered to his back underneath his heavy jacket was annoying him too. It wasn't that he was unfit – he took very good care of his body thank you very much and he'd use his black belt to knock down anyone who said otherwise. He may have been slim but his height often gave him an advantage and he was no beanpole.

Floor Fourteen.

His mother was constantly hounding him about how he was too skinny or how his hair needed trimming or how his clothes definitely weren't to Malfoy standards. Looking back on it now, he wondered how he hadn't jumped out of his second floor bedroom window as a kid.

Floor Fifteen.

His father had never really been there while he was growing up. As chief of police his job had kept him fairly well occupied. His childhood had been comfortable enough though. A mother willing to splash cash at him whenever he asked for anything. A nanny who constantly doted upon him and whose name and appearance had forever been a source of amusement. A house he could spend all summer exploring and never grow bored year after year. He had learned the morals of a cop in those years. The handbook was practically ingrained into his brain by twelve so at the age of fifteen, despite his perfect grades, anything less than following his father into the law would have been a failure.

Floor Sixteen.

The stairs were starting to look like a very comfortable place for a rest. Surely if he lay down onto them, the hard concrete wouldn't be too cold or dig into his back too much, right? Bullshit. With a huff, Draco hauled himself past the rancid sign and jumped up the stairs towards the next floor, swiping at his brow. It occurred to him that he was physically heading up towards heaven but metaphorically speeding his way closer to fiery hell with each step.

Five floors later and, as the pillar labelled twenty-one crawled by, Draco began to review his morning, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation that would come when he banged on the probably questionable looking door.

Floor Twenty-two.

Tenant's Name: Harry James Potter.

Age: Eighteen.

Previous Residence: Unknown.

Parents: Deceased.

Guardians: Unknown.

Occupation: Student.

Appearance: IC1; Dark (Black) Hair, Green Eyes, Pale Skin, 5'5", 9st8lb – at last recorded medical appointment.

Floor Twenty-three.

The morning had been a mess of non-stop shouting and belittling. He should have been used to all the sneers, the smirks, the snide comments and the treble meanings but Snape had just been in one of those unfortunate moods that caused the vicious tendencies in his personality to up their game another notch, as if they felt threatened, at the people he was…discontented with – unhappy didn't quite fit as he was never happy with anyone at the best of times.

Floor Twenty-four.

The case file that was thrust into his hands was surprisingly thick for an eighteen year old. The raid was supposedly simple, searching for any sign of illegal drugs or pushing of any kind. The malevolent twinkle in Snape's eye said differently. Draco suspected something a lot more sinister to be at work. It was likely only Snape had made any connections though, and needed more than gut instinct to follow it up, despite the fact that said instincts were usually eerily accurate.

Floor Twenty-Five.

God, why the _fuck_ couldn't humans just live on flat plains, there were plenty of deserts and ocean floors that had space. Either that or why couldn't they built technical equipment that actually bloody worked, as in, _all the fucking time!_

Floor Twenty-six.

Draco Malfoy, sweat extraordinaire, stepped out into a corridor that somehow felt more foreboding than the rest of the block. Maybe it was the absence of gum and that stale smell of…bodily fluids that made it seem less occupied and more haunted. The door for apartment G was at the very end, beside the window that was so grime filled not a speck of day clawed through. The door itself was ordinary enough, though Draco himself would never be seen dead living behind it. Simple, cobwebbed wood, painted a splintered black against the chipped, barely recognisable purple of the corridor walls.

It only took three successive thumping knocks to cause movement within the grotty apartment. There was a shuffling, the crackling of rubbish – among other things – being stepped on, muffled cursing and a multitude of heavy bolts sliding before the door swept inwards.

"Mr Harry Potter?" Draco asked formally, taking the time it took for the other man to reply to observe and calculate him. He was short and lean, not muscular; although you wouldn't be able to tell through the loose clothing he wore anyway. His emerald eyes, shadowed in the dim light, glittered mischievously behind thick, black-rimmed glasses. His mouth was taught and face tense as if he were sizing up an opponent, and in a way, Draco guessed he was. His shift was sudden, from protective of a secret hiding place to nonchalantly leaning cockily against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed carelessly.

"I am he. And you are?" His voice was not deep, just a gentlemanly, low tone. His accent was lulling and Draco couldn't quite place it. An eyebrow was raised in question as if he expected obedience from everyone. Draco plastered on the ever-famous Malfoy smirk.

"Detective Malfoy," he flashed his badge, managing through sheer willpower not to wince when pale fingers snapped out like lightning and grabbed his wrist to inspect the laminated article in its black casing. "London Law Enforcement. I have a warrant to search your residence." Potter regarded him, cogs turning swiftly; swirling through all the paths different replies could lead to. Draco's smirk intensified at the reply, Potter decided to play it safe, the question everyone asked.

"On what grounds?"

"We have recently received evidence that a dealer has become active in this area." Potter didn't like the quick reply; he was growing uneasy. "Given your previous police record, including your involvement with such drugs, it is routine that we search your dwellings." Nails gnawed into his wrist. Emerald eyes speared him. Calculating. This kid was smart, Draco found himself thinking, if not academically then certainly street-wise. For a while, Draco wasn't sure he was ever going to be let go, that they would be locked standing there in that thick tension for eternity. But then Potter's face, and the intelligent, analysing light that beamed from within him, closed off, just like that, and he was stepping back with a fake smile on his face.

"So search me," he murmured, the challenge so blatant it felt like a slap in the face.


	2. Part 2

**So, Search Me **

**Part 2**

Draco Malfoy was in a particularly bad mood by five o'clock that afternoon. He felt smelly and dirty and in need of a shower; had done all day. Fucking stairs.

And he hadn't found a fucking thing in the whole fucking flat. Snape was going to snap his neck for this and it wasn't even his fault! It wasn't his idea to go on a bloody fucking useless treasure hunt from dawn until dusk. 'Previous record my arse!' he sniped to himself; the worst thing he'd found in Mr H J Potter's flat was a fucking used condom - neatly wrapped and in the bedroom bin he might add, not a nice surprise to unravel - and a stash of light porn under the mattress. Just because he looked like a mangy drug-dealer didn't mean he was one. Probably never bunked a day off school in his fucking life.

And another thing, speaking of fucking Potter with his endless mug of tea or coffee or whatever the fuck it was. He was always there sneering and snarking behind his back. Whatever Draco did there was always sarcasm waiting like a snake biting from the tip of his tongue, little git.

Four hours he'd been ransacking the place and already he couldn't fucking stand him. God, he wished for his bed with the nice soft sheets and the glass of wine he was due to have with his best friend that night. His shift was supposed to end at six, in which time he still had to get back and report. Pansy would have his precious privates if he was late too.

Currently, he found himself under on of the sofas, arse in the air and sneer to his back. He could see Potter standing there his lips curling cockily over the top of his damn mug. He'd be leaning against something too, thinking he looked sexy and desirable; as if Draco wouldn't be able to resist him when he turned around. Whatever. Fine, so Potter was the tiniest bit attractive in a sewer rat sort of way but it was nothing Draco couldn't handle, especially when he got to go home to his luxurious apartment - with a lift that worked thank you very much - and an ebony skinned _God_ who resided right across the _fucking_ hall.

Potter seemed to think he was invincible but Draco would get him. If he was guilty he'd fucking get him. Even if it was just to spite him. He'd love to smack that smirk off his face against a wall when he handcuffed him.

Potter had already requested to see his handcuffs three times in as many hours after an hour of almost complete silence; his softly padding bare feet as he stalked Draco through his flat the only noise that accompanied his presence. Little sleaze was trying to seduce him on the sly and what was more annoying - which Draco had thought was impossible - was that he couldn't tell if it was because he enjoyed being overly cheeky, to piss Draco off and test his limits or because he genuinely wanted to seduce Draco further into his bed than under the mattress. Maybe a combination of both, Draco reasoned, although he was not in the bad habit of self-deception.

"Fortunately for you, Mr Potter, I have found no evidence to suggest your involvement in the crimes previous stated." Draco shimmied out from under the sofa, wriggling his behind as little as humanly possible and fully aware that Potter's eyes were glued to it anyway. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I'll show myself out."

Draco tipped his head to the boy, his nose twitching in disgust that his good manners should have to extend so far. But Potter stepped in front of him, perhaps a little too close even, the sheer _nerve_.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to flash me your handcuffs before you leave?" he murmured, glancing up through his fringe. A 'smoulder' some would call it. Although Draco would say Potter pulled off more of a semi-not-quite-smoulder.

"I'm afraid not, Mr Potter, unless you have a confession for me which involves your arrest?" Draco tried to brush passed him again but Potter was there once more.

"I'd prefer to see them in a more recreational sense. Perhaps in the bedroom? Or are you more of an 'against the wall' type of man? There's a lovely spot in my shower, perfect for..."

"Mr Potter," Draco interrupted, consciously ignoring the slight high-pitched tone to his voice, "that is entirely inappropriate and I would thank you not to address me in such a way." God his father would kill him if he knew his blood was stirring at the thought of this mere boy, himself and his handcuffs left alone to their own devices for a couple of hours in a bedroom. He bore down his iron will on the sparkling flush he knew was peppering him high on his cheeks.

"Awwww, you're blushing." Draco ground his teeth silently, edging further around. "Not even a peek?" Potter whined suddenly very close to his ear, his breath ghosting over the ivory skin above his uniform collar.

"You are being intentionally difficult, Mr Potter." Draco said, sliding his gaze to the door and the key to his freedom.

"I'd never do such a thing," the sneaky little git teased, his body seeming to gravitate further into Draco's personal space. The warm flow of air from his nose drifted under his shirt and the hair of his fringe tickled his chin, which trembled minutely. He felt like he needed to smack his forehead forcefully to wake himself from the sudden daze that had overtaken him.

Four hours he'd been in this flat and Potter's eyes had never been that green, he swore they were more of a murky mud when he stepped through the door but now they were sparkling and dangerous. The air felt muggy around him, dense and tangible, or maybe that was the tension that was building. He needed to get out of there pretty sharpish or this was going to end somewhere it really shouldn't.

Suddenly Lucius, with his anger and thunder, jumped into the front of his mind. He was sat behind his desk; empty and emotionless, both his face and his home away from home. His eyes were dead as they looked back at Draco as if he were five years old again.

Draco gritted his teeth to the point that it was painful and glanced back at Potter, who had sidled close enough for him to be able to glean the gold glittering in his irises.

"Mr Potter." He boomed far louder than necessary, which, satisfyingly, had the effect of bolting Potter back and away from him. "Excuse me."

And, like a criminal from a prison cell, he launched himself towards the door wondering why he was the one feeling guilty and shrugging off Potter's breathy call of 'you can call me Harry.'

As the door slammed shut behind him securely he got the distinct feeling that the unimaginable sod was cackling himself in two behind him. Bastard.


	3. Part 3

**So, Search Me**

**Part 3**

It turned out that Draco hated Tuesdays too. Again he had laboured his way up the ridiculous number of stairs to the piss wreaking, dilapidated hallway and God-awful space that supposedly was meant to pass as a flat. On top of that, apparently Snape didn't think he could possibly conduct a thorough, by-the-book search of a poxy flat without assistance because right now lard-arse Lonbottom and Daphne - street whore - Greengrass with her top buttoned dangerously low and her skirt rolled dangerously high, both dressed in a personalized Uniform, stood breathing down his neck while he wrapped impatiently on the door.

And then there was Potter, standing in his doorway smirking at Draco as if he owned the whole _fucking_ Universe and Draco was just some infinitesimal speck to be squashed on those ogre-ish glasses that should be thrown into the pit of some forbidden, hungry black abyss. At least he could take comfort in the slightly diminished possibility of Potter perving on him with his companions in constant contact; because they would hover because they were the pathetic hovering sort who could not do a thing without conformation and a pat on the head as physically patronising as Draco could make it. Draco heaved a deep breath that seemed to go on forever and actually burned his lungs.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Hello again, Detective Malfoy," infuriatingly polite and maddeningly unruffled.

"Mr. Potter, I have a warrant to search you flat…And before you ask, yes, this is again due to the drug infestation in this area."

"Again?" - _fucking eyebrows!_

"This is Constable Longbottom and Constable Greengrass." 'Gesture.' 'Poke over shoulder.' "Please could you stand aside."

'Chuckle' "So what are you waiting for? Search me." If Draco hadn't been a Malfoy, he was sure a feral growl would have ripped indignantly from his throat. Potter stepped back from the door, flamboyantly sweeping his arm and dipping down into an insultingly rude mock bow. Draco couldn't help the snarl when Longbottom said 'thank you.'

Two hours later found Draco scrabbling through Potter's kitchen draws, attempting to make as much mess as was humanly possible without being noticed. For the past ten minutes he had been trying to ignore the eyes that were carving into his back, shadowed eyes that glittered out maliciously from under sinfully long lashes and over a cradled yellow coffee mug that claimed boldly that, 'a man is a domestic animal, which if reared with firmness and kindness can be trained to do most things.'

"You missed a spot." Potter smirked at him and jerked his head towards the counters on the other side of the dirty stove.

"Your mess is making it very difficult to be systematic, Potter. I'll get there eventually." Draco replied curtly wishing the bastard would shut up for a change.

"So why have you come back here anyway," Potter asked, shifting against the table on the other side of the room.

'Because you're a conceited git and a lawbreaker and I don't trust you!' Or that's what Draco wanted to shriek at him. His patience was reaching the end of its tether. Instead, however, he said, "Because my commanding officer requested I search you…again."

"Ahhh," Potter replied all knowingly, and Draco had the sneaking suspicion he knew very well exactly what it was he _actually_ wanted to say but was content to play along with his little game. "Will you be needing to search my person as well?" Potter teased from the safety beneath his hair, which splayed across his face and was so not fucking sexy, _damn it._

Draco spun around as if in slow motion, the room a long blur. Of course it was impossible the contemptible little wanker couldn't have gotten nicer in the twenty-four hours he had been away. But Pansy did say, often, that people - no matter how much of a lost cause they were in any department of their lives – did not change overnight however much one might wish it otherwise.

He really wished, begged even, that he had not decided to look at Potter when he addressed him as it almost short circuited his brain.

Potter had obviously decided of his own volition that he did need to be searched as his shirt was now unbuttoned. Why was so much skin on display? It definitely wasn't fair for such a lovely body to be so close and yet _so far_! He wanted to touch he really did. But, God, if he gave in now there would be no going back.

And why did Potter have to lean back like that with his legs crossed? It made his light slacks hang just so promising a delicious sight underneath, titillating and flirtatious.

"If you really want to be searched, Mr Potter, I can ask Constable Longbottom to come in immediately and assist you." Draco had hoped that would repulse him enough to cause him to disist in his persistent flirting. It wasn't that Longbottom was ugly, although Draco would never been seen dead touching him, it was more that Draco had seen the judgemental glare Potter had bathed him with. But Draco couldn't blame him; Longbottom's hair was simply terrible and it would really be a crime against fashion to leave it like that, it would probably look better burnt off.

"Well why can't you do it?" Potter sulked back, pouting out his lips; red, glossy, full lips. Draco resisted the urge to wipe his hand across his brow to banish the bead of sweat that was forming. 'Concentrate on the goal' he told himself, which in this case was getting out again without going fucking mad with lust.

"I am currently occupied with another task." Draco twirled to face the bedroom door, with a great deal of effort he might add, on the balls of his feet and curved his long fingers around his mouth, quirking a nasty, conquering smirk to himself.

"Wait! Wait. Wait," Potter hurried to silence him, miraculously without jumping further than from the table.

"Changed our mind have we? Well excuse me, but I do believe I missed a spot back here." Draco shifted back to the worktop and scowled. If he didn't know better, he'd say that sounded suspiciously like he was flirting _back_ at Potter. And, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he _did_ know better.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: 'M'ness starts at the end of this chapter. Please be prepared for the lemon in the following chapter. No Flames will be tolerated. You have been warned.

It was there in front of him in big, bold letters. Snape's scratching, angry and petulant signature was squiggled at the bottom complete with harsh, bitter full stop so it was not a fake. The paper was authentic and thick. The ink was pure black and smelled fresh. It was neat and unfolded as it should be when found as a new addition to a recently used file.

Draco had not gone looking for it...well, he had but only to follow up on a comment he'd heard in the canteen during his lunch hour.

Harry Potter:

**CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES**

Potter was no longer a witness or suspected criminal or whatever it was they had been searching his flat for nonsensically in the first place. Being cleared meant not being a suspect meant being not involved in the case anymore meant being free to 'consort' with the officers involved...

So what the bloody fuck was Draco Malfoy doing still standing in his office staring down at the block capital letters?

When Potter hauled open his door to him it was with a wicked grin and a slanted eyebrow. When Draco glanced up at him it was with a none-too-sexy grimace - at the gum on his shoe of course - and an embarrassingly unsophisticated titter off balance. Face aflame, Draco coughed to clear his throat and grasped at the flayed edges of his courage.

"Your flirtations..." His breath didn't hold out any longer and he paused to heave in a gulping lungful, affectively providing Potter with enough time to make a smart, sarcastic retort. He was thoroughly shocked when all he did was raise his eyebrow further beneath his fringe and quirk a lopsided, gentle smile at him. Since when was Potter gentle? He was meant to snap and snark at Draco's feeble romanticism.

Potter jerked his hand suddenly and it was a second before Draco realised it was a motion for him to continue.

"Your flirtations...were they genuine interest? Or simply because I was the officer in charge of your investigation?" Draco was rather proud of the lack of stutter and sheer genius of the elocution of his questions. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of some ugly red he didn't care to name at his pride for no apparent reason.

Potter sniggered under his breath, of course the little twat couldn't have had a complete character transplant in the entire week Draco hadn't seen him, that would be too easy, but there was nothing actively malevolent about the laugh, just a twisted playfulness he didn't quite understand yet.

"Is there a correct answer to that?" Potter was gazing up at him through thick eyelashes again and he felt a muscle in his thigh twitch in anticipation. Or he hoped it was anticipation of something anyway. There was a reason he had come here after all and it wasn't because he was a respectful police officer. Not at the moment anyway. He had needs, _dammit_ , and Potter had already pushed him past his limit.

He growled and shoved Potter back through the threshold into his flat, shocking himself more than Potter in all probability.

"Just answer the damn question."

Potter's eyes glittered back at him, shining especially brightly when Draco's foot thumped against his front door to stamp it shut with more force than was strictly necessary.

"I should call the police. This could be classed as breaking and entering. Oh...wait..." Potter smirked at him, his chin dipped in challenge but stance relaxed as he draped himself half over the nearest surface he came into contact with, which happened to be one of those ghastly counter tops. It was the same counter, in fact, that Potter had leaned against exactly a week ago, hip cocked and eyes teasing that had stirred something so deep and primal within Draco; although he hadn't known it had awakened until a few days later, left to his own devices in his own home.

"That wasn't breaking and entering. You invited me," Draco taunted low and guarded. He couldn't underestimate the twat. What if there was a real threat in there somewhere, no matter how idiotic.

"Fine then, entering and breaking. My door looks chipped. See." His chin jutted momentarily making his ebony hair ruffle and curl appealingly. Draco was on him in a second. His breath ghosted over the wanker's ear, curling into his ear shell and wafting over the soft hair below.

"Answer the fucking question," he demanded, his voice was a rumbling growl that extended from somewhere deep within his belly, caressing against Potter's skin and rewarding him with a smattering of goose bumps. Draco resolved that he would make Potter shiver before he backed off. It was only fair as, he thought, if their position had been reversed he would have been quivering and panting beneath him in a heartbeat.

In all truth, he had no idea where his bravery was coming from. Maybe it was that Potter was so intoxicating he wasn't really thinking for himself any longer. Or maybe it was just that he wanted to so thoroughly shag this man not even his own insecurities were going to be allowed to get in his path.

"If I said a bit of both, would you find that kinky?" Potter murmured against the smouldering flesh of his throat and Draco swore he felt steam rising from the lightest of contacts as he dipped his tongue out with the deliberately pronounced 'th'.

They weren't touching anywhere else but Draco could feel the heat emanating from him, rising in wave upon wave of glistening fire like pheromones burning and licking alight under a barren desert sun.

His stomach quivered both inside and out at Potter's answer. He felt like he was burning up, the spot on his neck ready to combust and the heated hardness in his trousers straining for some...any form of affection.

With a sudden spout of raw desire and want, Draco surged forward with his hips and abdomen. Potter clashed back against the worktop, his breath hissing sharply from between his teeth and he yowled like an annoyed dog, nipping warningly at Draco's bared throat.

Draco curled his lips around Potter's earlobe, rolling it over his tongue and satisfyingly eliciting a shiver that he felt all the way from the base of his spine and up to make his hair vibrate atop his head.

"I believe, Mr Potter," he whispered heatedly, too far gone to be embarrassed, "that you expressed a wish to be searched?" He fisted Potter's locks harshly, drawing his head back and exposing him. His eyes were wide; the pupils dilated and yearning.

They darkened.

"So, search me."


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemon. And to be safe i've upped the rating...I don't remember it being that explicit when I wrote it...
> 
> And late...apologies. 
> 
> Enjoy and reviews are welcome.

* * *

Draco decided, with a sort of out of body certainty as one can only experience with pristine clarity, that he should really re-evaluate it absolutist opinion of Tuesdays. He came to the conclusion on this particular Tuesday as he shuddered his way through what would be his first orgasm of the evening.

A stuttering, fluttering inside his chest told him he must have looked like a daft idiot; with his prick jutting out from between his trembling thighs, his trousers flapped open just below and mouth hanging loosely open under glazed, squinting eyes. How attractive he must have looked.

But then again he must have been doing something right or Potter wouldn't have still been kneeling beneath his spread legs, staring up at him with his rosy, abused lips slightly parted and his cheek resting lightly against the warmth of his hip.

They shifted into an uncomfortable silence; one which Draco guessed had come about as Potter was unsure of how to proceed. He felt the shifting of air one last time as Potter breathed in his scent a final time before he fell back onto his feet, settling on the ground and grinding at his lower lip.

Draco had never seen Potter nervous; it was an endearing change of character that he thought he'd like to see more of.

Potter's eyes, still a dark, lusty near-black, stayed glued to the floor. That is until Draco's uniform trousers dropped to his ankles and he drew his already bare feet - when on earth did Potter manage that? - from them without - thank you some forgiving deity - catching them on the material.

Pulling his yellow and pink - what had been thinking that morning! But then again he hadn't been aware he'd end up here after work getting his Potter on - underwear back over his hips, Draco slid to the floor before his host and caught his eyes.

They were still burning even through the uncertainty. Instead of interrupting the prelude with words and unsettling the mood, Draco simply reached forward as if approaching a wild animal and gently caressed the dip between Potter's collar bones. But Potter just brushed his hand away, his confidence sky-rocketing to where it should have been.

There was a second of hesitation in which Draco worried he would be left there sitting in his underwear but instead Potter pounced on him ripping his tatty, threadbare shirt over his tousled head of hair and revealing a slim torso that looked to have been caught and halted somewhere between teenagedom and manhood.

When he skimmed himself into Draco's lap, though, with all the grace of a serpentine beast it became quite apparent that Potter's overly youthful appearance stopped at his waist. A willing and waiting hardness quivered between them as Potter pressed himself against Draco's half opened shirt and claimed his lips messily once more.

Potter didn't have a natural finesse like any of the past people Draco had taken as lovers but he made up for it with an insatiable natural fierceness that extended through his kisses. It was in the way he rocked his hips with impatience. The way his hands pinched at the remaining buttons of Draco's shirt with a roughness. The way his muscles shivered under Draco's own hands wherever they glided; through his knotted hair, over his jaw with the slight, dark stubble or over the light toning of his biceps.

Potter's fingers were calloused but gentle as they practically stroked the shirt from Draco's shoulders, ignoring the coffee stain and immediately ducking to take a peaked nipple into his mouth, his hands smoothing around Draco's neck and chin. Draco's back bowed of its own accord and a whispering of promised groans slipped from his throat before the intensity of the pleasure properly registered with his brain.

A firey lust flared inside him, fuelling the lust storming through his veins and in his blood. His nails ripped at Potter's thin trousers, tearing and yanking them over his pointed hip bones, popping the minimally stitched button in the process. He recieved a quirked smile - and if its purpose was to seduce him then Potter should be convinced that he was thoroughly seduced - and bounced up, shucking the flimsy material in some acrobatic display and landing gracefully - unbe- _bloodyfucking_ -lievably - back in his lap, his long, bared legs slipping like writhing snakes around Draco's waist and pressing hardness against hardness, the unexpectedness of which dragged a grunt and a thrust from Draco.

Words were deserting him. Thoughts were slowing and speeding up all at once. Need. Need. _Need._

"Now," he mumbled breathily into the heated flesh of Potter's throat as he grasped at his ebony hair. It tasted salty when he sucked and nibbled at it.

Potter immediately rose up onto his knees, swooping to take Draco's lips between his own and dragging his boxers - of a much less embarrassing shade than Draco's he noticed - from his tensed and quaking thighs and discarding them to some unknown corner.

His arms snuck and dipped into a cabinet of the little kitchen before he near collapsed back to Draco's waiting limbs which immediately twined around him, forceful and desperate. As desperate as Potter obviously.

Nails slashed at Draco's pants, ripping them from his body beyond repair until burning hardened flesh collided mercifully with hardened flesh. Draco's head hung forward at the sensation at the same time as Potter's eyes fluttered and his mouth gaped.

Suddenly Potter hefted himself up with what appeared to be an enormous amount of effort and restraint, sweat trickling from his temple and trailing slowly down his flushing chest.

Potter's arm strained behind himself and Draco watched in amazement as he began pistoning his fingers into himself without preamble, oil dripping from his preparations.

All Draco could do was gawk as Potter writhed and bounced atop his own fingers. The sounds rising and rumbling from his lungs must have been unholy, sin itself and they made Draco's cock twitch in anticipation. Potter just bloody smirked at him when he caught his eye, wanker.

Then he pressed forward and Draco's back gave way beneath him as he sunk into moist heat. Potter slid all the way down never even wincing at his girth, his breath only quickened ever so slightly, puffing at the sodden hair that fell over his glowing eyes. Draco could have sworn at that moment that Potter was both God and the Devil incarnated.

They were a mass of tangled limbs, flailing and grasping, thrusting and spasming, twisting and bending. Potter, above him, never seemed to run out of energy where all Draco could manage was to grind his hips skyward and bathe in the pleasure Potter was showering on him with his pliant body and craning, flinging spine.

It was over too quickly but then Draco doubted his body could have put up with the merciless pace for much longer anyway. Potter collapsed over him afterwards, spent and exhausted as Draco softened inside him.

"If that's...what qualifies...as breaking and...entering in your dictionary..." Potter huffed and wheezed into Draco's ear, his breath catching and his chest heaving, "then you can…rob me...every day…of the week."


	6. Part 6

Draco was in the process of discovering that Potter's shower did indeed contain a perfect little hidey hole for unspeakable things to be ventured two weeks later when his phone began blaring viciously at them from the bedroom. And of course Snape couldn't let him have a moments peace because it would have been impossible for it to be the innocent jingling of his mother and not the cackling crow he'd set as Snape's tone; a slight rebellion if he didn't say so himself if a cowardly one.

Twenty minutes of constant screeching when one was trying to concentrate on maximising the pleasures of the flesh - i.e. the way Potter grunted when his back hit the wall every time Draco plunged into him - could be quite annoyingly distracting. And if Draco's 'yes,sir' was a little too snappish when a slammed his thumb onto the answer button then, well, most people would probably understand why.

Unfortunately, Severus Snape was not most people.

"Get your miserable arse back here. Now!" And that had really been the end of it. What could Draco have said really? 'Sorry, sir, you may have a new lead on the mass murder on Brick Street case but I'm busy being thoroughly shagged so I can't make it in today...do I still get sick-pay?' Draco just wasn't that suicidal although with his current dark mood his sarcastic side did feel quite thumderous.

Potter was in his little, sorry excuse for a kitchen when he returned, mug in hand and fingers skimming the rim delicately; tantalisingly.

"I have to go."

"Well, fuck off then." Potter dismissed him by turning his back and bringing the blaring, yellow mug to his rosy lips.

If one didn't count nearly breaking his neck on the way down those god awful flights of stairs, he made it to work in a record breaking time even if he wasn't that pleased at being summoned; no need to anger Snape further.

He'd barely stepped shiny foot through the door when Longbottom immediately pointed him towards Snape's office, finger waggling at the end of his arm to emphasise the urgency.

"There has been a development," Snape surged straight through to the matter at hand - in fact it was one of the only things Draco liked about the man. "Your orders are to lead an armed response unit to the recorded residence of Mr Harry James Potter and arrest him on sight." Draco didn't think it would serve his interests well that he had just come from said place, although the reoccurring nature of the situation made him feel like he was on a merry-go-round ride all of a sudden.

But more importantly, the chill running down his spine wasn't needed to convince him that this was in no way a good situation.

"...Why...sir?" he murmured through his clenched teeth.

Snape's gaze scraped over him like shards of broken glass on a chalk board. "Need to know, Malfoy. You've got your orders. No fuck-ups or it'll be your neck. He may be armed, he goes for a pocket, you shoot to injure, kill if necessary. I'm not losing any men because of your incompetence." Draco glared down at him darkly and thought very much of informing him that, because he had stripped Potter not an hour ago, he knew very well that he had no weapons on his person whatsoever. But he didn't.

Snape's hand flapped at him and Draco ground his teeth at his second blatant dismissal of the day.

What the _fuck_ was going on!

The team was waiting for him with a squad car. Draco felt very much like he was being swept along for the ride, his brain still left back in Potter's grotty little apartment with its surprisingly heavenly shower and bed...and kitchen...and floor...and walls...

Perhaps he would be able to claim his marbles back when they got there.

Draco would always remember the moment it hit him that he was about to go and arrest, possibly even maim, his lover. Surreal didn't really even cover the shock that swept his heart down into his gut in a swirl of butterflies and caterpillars. He felt sick, sweat breaking out on his pale brow. He was going to arrest Potter...as in Harry Potter... _his_ Potter.

He turned to Longbottom, noticing him for the first time wedged beside him, who was tightening his bulletproof vest. Severe much?

"What exactly was the new evidence that was found?" Draco whispered to him, worried about breaking the tense silence within the car.

"Snape didn't tell you? Fingerprints don't lie, Malfoy, they were all over the bag our last informant gave in as evidence."

"So what is he? A drug dealer?"

Longbottom stared at him, considering him before his chin dipped closer to his ear to divulge some important secret. "Snape started the investigation to check up on him, just suspicion. But when we both turned up nothing, well, it went bust. Then this comes to light and practically proves him right." Here Longbottom flicked his gaze the other three people in the car and lowered his voice further. "Snape thought he might be 'The Scar'..." Longbottom's timid little voice gave out on him then and he squeaked, curling back in his seat uncomfortably.

Draco bit his lip. That couldn't be good. Ever. It was well know that 'The Scar' was a crime lord, a drug dealer that supplied practically the whole of London south of the river. No one knew what he looked like. No one knew how old he was or even if he was male for certain. You didn't get in contact with him either. You were chosen when you were deemed worthy.

But that couldn't be Potter, the sensible part of his brain - what was left of it anyway - said. Potter was a little shit with the attitude of a spoilt toddler but he was no crime lord.

But there were the fingerprints and Longbottom was right, they never lied. Although it could have been circumstantial. Pretty bad luck though. Phenomenally bad actually.

But they had searched his place from top to bottom as well as all his listed - and as many unlisted as they could lay their hands on - properties and nothing had been found. Draco would be willing to bet that if Snape had seriously considered Potter a threat worth catching, which he obviously did, then he would've gone a whole lot deeper than that too. Relatives. Friends. Aquiantances. Passers-by on the street. All of them would've been checked thoroughly. So where was he hiding...well everything. Even something little would be needed as solid evidence to hold him in court and Draco was willing to bet Snape couldn't wait to get his greasy little mitts on it.

So Draco would have to get to it first...wait _what?_

Since when had Draco been willing to break the law, go against his seniors and completely sacrifice his career, and likely his freedom, for the insignificant twat?

As the car pulled up to Potter's hideous apartment block he realised it was since right now.


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoyed it.

It only took Draco half a flight of stairs to realise that Potter wouldn't be up there. If he was as smart as Snape obviously expected him of being - Draco's mind fizzed a bit more at the ridiculousness of it all - then he would have been out the front door before they even managed to switch their engines on.

Outside then. But where? Would he have just left? No goodbye? But why not? Draco was just a casual fuck, right? A casual fuck simmering with sexual tension and natural attraction, albeit, but still...

No goodbye then. Probably gone.

So why did Draco feel like he should go around the building? Call it a cop sense or intuition but it had rarely led him wrong before. What did he have to lose anyway, there was nothing at the top of those stairs except a group of stressed, aggressive officers pumped full of testosterone with nowhere to vent it.

Out the swinging door. Around the building. Avoiding the used condoms. Across the road. Startlingly quiet.

There were trees everywhere; bushy furs that spread out before him and covered the children's park from view. Draco glanced guiltily back at the building only to realise he was completely under the shelter of the trees.

The climbing frame was rusted orange and peeling but the swings still stood, the chains creaking in the wind. Whether it was habit or the reaction to seeing him, Draco drew his gun from its holster and felt his knees lowering. Eyes sharp. Feet silent. He crept through the branches, flicking the moisture from his hair and avidly pretending he wasn't developing some sort of nervous twitch.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Potter murmured just loud enough for him to hear. He froze. Minutes crawled by. Draco refused to break his silence as if it would be a kind of moral loss against Potter. "I know you're there, idiot. I can here you breathing." He turned his face slightly. "And you reek of sex," he hissed, leering back at Draco over his shoulder. His clothes were as ratty as usual but the rucksack that sat innocently beside him was weighed down with hidden goods and the multitude of zips sparkled new.

"Going somewhere?" he said, shuffling forward and onto the weed crusted tarmac.

Potter swivelled around on the swing, the chain twisting above him.

"You know I can't stay here." His face was serious and Draco wondered how his lips could still look so tempting even though he knew Potter was evil incarnate. "I'm thinking north. The cold always suited me better anyway." His head fell back and he gazed at the clouds. For some reason, this vulnerability made Draco slip his gun back into its holster and he took another step forward, gently perching against one rusted bar of the scabbed frame.

"So, was that the most original name you could come up with?" He asked, glancing at Potter from the corner of his eye. Potter barked laughter up into the sky.

"Don't play coy, Malfoy. Who do you think I am? A cop?" He sniggered at his own joke again. Then he turned to Draco and caught his stare, eyes like ice and more serious than Draco had ever seen them. Cold. Deadly. For the first time Draco felt a chill shift down his spine at the possibility that Potter might be more involved than he thought possible. Crueller. Perhaps even...

"Are you 'the Scar'?" He said willing with all his brainpower that his voice stayed level. Potter just stared at him grimly. Never blinking. Never moving. Just the wind stirring his hair around the unnatural stillness of his body in the eerie silence of this otherworld they had come to.

And then he started laughing. Hysterical, belly-deep laughs that shook his entire body. Draco glanced behind him, broken from the spell, suddenly worried they would be surrounded at any second.

"Don't be thick, Malfoy." He huffed between giggles. "I'm not a fucking criminal mastermind. Did I shag your brains out or something?" He bent double again and let out steams of whooping breaths. Draco didn't think it was the right time to inform him that, yes actually, he may well have shagged his brains right out of him and into that bloody fucking coffee mug he could see poking out of his bag.

And then it hit him. Like an elephant charging its rival. The shitting wankering bloody sodding fucking coffee cup. The only thing in the whole shitting apartment he hadn't checked.

"Fuck's sake," he muttered, catching Potters attention, complete with sparkling eyes. God he'd reduced Potter to tears of laughter with his moronic theories. No! Snape's moronic theories. But still...there was that stare... "That mug. That's where you've been hiding your stash isn't it. Right under my fucking nose, you arsehole!" His voices screeched out of his throat and he suddenly felt like he'd swallowed a tin of nails. His eyes felt wet and his hands shook at his sides. He felt strangely betrayed and he wasn't entirely sure _why_. He'd known all along there was the possibility, the very real possibility, that Potter was a 'bad guy', an outcast of the law, and yet he'd jumped straight into bed with him anyway - or the shower as the case may be.

"I hoped you'd figure it out at some point. And it's not my entire stash. Just my home recreational. For personal use." He smirked up at Draco from under his fringe and in two seconds Draco went from utterly devastated in heart-swelling betrayal to murderous. His fingers itched to squeeze that pale, little neck.

"I'm going to have to arrest you, Mr Potter," he informed him, straightening his spine and using his full height. Intimidation was the key to this arrest, he assured himself.

"No you're not, Malfoy."

"What?" He growled, prowling closer and not even pausing when Potter swung back around and jumped to his feet.

"Well, you would have done it by now." He inched closer while Draco once again found his feet glued to the uneven floor beneath him. "What's going to happen is I'm going to go _that_ way," he said pointing behind him erratically, "and you're going to go back _that_ way," again with the finger wiggle, "and then we're never going to see each other again. Into the sunset and all that crap. It's been nice, Malfoy, but really, I've got to get going. Brass on my tail and all that." He grinned up at Draco, showing off his pearly teeth but made no move to back away or turn.

Draco started to speak before his brain even registered what he was saying.

"No, I don't think so. That's not what's going to happen either. You're going to walk whichever direction you like and then I'm going to follow you at a reasonable distance until you accept that, in whatever fucked up way, this is some crappy partnership which I and you, don't lie because I can see it in your eyes and in your hesitation, are going to continue until either I'm tired of fucking you, and I wouldn't bet on that, or until I receive any or all of my mental capacities of logic back."

They stood there huffing and puffing at each other. Eyes wide and mouths hanging limp. Potter pulled himself together first.

"And what? You think I'm just going to roll over and take it like a goddamned street whore. I work alone, Malfoy."

"Like I said, you don't have a choice."

Potter's eyes glowed with excitement and he was practically vibrating with the adrenalin. But all Draco could do was wonder where all these words were spewing up from and when they had become more truthful than an act to delay or confuse Potter. ' _Never were_ ,' his mind whispered sadistically in his ear sounding suspiciously like Potter in that hissing whisper he used right after he'd come...which set Draco's determination entirely.

Potter leapt toward him, grabbing a handful of his mussed shirt and sliding his fingers through his unkempt hair. He pecked their lips together for one tantalising moment before drawing back and swaggering back over to his abandoned bag.

"Well, we'll have to see if you can keep up with me first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intentionally left a open. Possiblilty of sequel but not for a long time. Finish it how you want to finish it.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Reviews are welcome.


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